Duet
by fiddletune
Summary: Regina is a talented professional violin player. As a mother though, she is not as successful. Her teenage adoptive son Henry hates her, and secretly wants to meet his biological mother, Emma Swan, who happens to be a cool guitar player. SwanQueen AU.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: Thanks to **Alexielle7** and **Midnight-Owl913** for the beta work! I intend to post one or two chapters a week, hope you'll enjoy my new story! _

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"What's that racket?!" Regina yelled, bursting into her son's bedroom where Henry was playing the cello. He raised his bow from the strings.

"Apocalyptica," the gangly fourteen-year old answered, gazing at her defiantly.

"That's not music," Regina stated coldly. "That's just noise. You've been playing the same three chords for the last ten minutes. Stop wasting your time, I want to hear some scales now."

"But Mum!" Henry protested. "I _like_ playing hard rock! Cello is so lame. Why can't I play the guitar?"

Regina was aware that pretending he hated playing the cello was Henry's new way of getting under her skin. He had been playing it since he was six. She had let him pick his instrument, explaining that it was a long-term commitment. Eight years later, he was actually beginning to sound quite good. He had no particular gift for music though. But with more time and practice…

"You know why," she firmly answered. "We've talked about that a million times. Guitar is a mere _hobby_." Her tone was dismissive. "What can you hope for? Earning quarters and dimes playing at street corners?"

"Maybe I don't _want_ to make a living out of it." Henry pointed out.

"Well, you'll get to decide when you go to college. Until then, you keep playing the cello. Mills don't quit."

"It's not fair!" Henry protested. "All the cool kids at school get to play the guitar or the drums, and I'm the nerd with the cello who plays in the school orchestra like a _girl_!"

"There's nothing wrong with boys playing the cello," said Regina unsympathetically. "Most of the great cellists are men. Besides, you're not the _only_ boy in the school orchestra. Those amateur guitar players are pathetic - they couldn't play real music to save their lives. At least, _you_ can read a score."

"Yeah, like that makes me cool," Henry muttered, his bow hanging loosely from his right hand.

"Well, it certainly should! Playing the Bach suites at fourteen is much cooler than rattling a guitar to impress some stupid teenage girls who can't tell the difference between a cat meowing and a minuet," Regina explained impatiently. "Speaking of which – let me hear that minuet in D now!"

Henry glared at her, and Regina could feel that he wanted to argue and rebel, to act out in some way so as to establish his right to contradict her and do whatever he wanted. She glared sternly back at him. After hesitating, he finally complied.

She listened to her son's spiritless playing with aggravation. Henry had always been difficult, but things were only getting worse since he was a teenager. He now seemed determined to ruin the last thing they still shared, playing classical music.

What had she done wrong? She had raised him as her own flesh and blood, had taken care of him, given him everything she could. He was healthy, well fed, well dressed. He had a PS 4 console and attended a good school. He had his own room, bike and cello.

And yet, Henry was convinced that Regina didn't love him, and never stopped challenging her in every possible way. He had spent years in therapy to no avail – he still hated her. Sometimes Regina thought she might hate him too, ever so briefly, and wished she could slap his sullen face, or send him to boarding school until he went off to college. It was a lonely job to be a single parent, and more so when your only kid wished you were not his mother.

Surely it was an awful thought for a mother to have, but Regina wondered at times – would it be so hard if Henry hadn't been adopted – if he _were_ her own flesh and blood?

Henry could feel Regina coldly appraising him as he played on autopilot, and was convinced that she despised him. He had long been aware that she wasn't going to be easily satisfied with him in any way, especially not as a musician. So much for having a professional violin player as a mother. And so much for being the adopted son of the Evil Queen, as her colleagues from the symphony orchestra called her behind her back. The only thing she truly cherished was her damn violin.

But tonight was not the night to confront his mother. Henry had other plans and wanted her off his back. He had finally found the hiding place where Regina kept all the papers related to his adoption, and discovered his _real_ mother's name. Whatever the reason why she had given him up for adoption, mothers were supposed to love their kids, right? She _had_ to be a better mother than Regina. He couldn't wait to meet her.


	2. Chapter 2

"Let me in!" Henry demanded. "My mother works here."

The bouncer crossed his impressive arms and gave him an amused once-over. "Don't think so," he said. "Never seen you before. Go home, kid! Come back when you're legal."

"Please!" Henry insisted. "I swear my mum's in here! Her name is Emma Swan. She plays tonight."

The bouncer burst into a resounding laughter. "That's a good one!" he said gleefully. "I've never heard it before! Can't wait to see Swan's face when I tell her!"

"But it's true!" Henry protested. "Emma Swan is my mother. Let me in please, I have to see her!"

"Listen, buddy," said the man, still grinning broadly, "First, she's on stage at this hour. She won't come out and climb back into that bug of hers until 2 a.m. And secondly, I've known Emma for years. She has no kids. Not really the Mum type, like, at _all_."

"Hm," Henry hesitated, "in fact, she hasn't met me yet, but if you let me in…"

"OK boy, that was fun. But you're unaccompanied, and there's no way I'm letting you in. That's what I'm here for, got it? Now, can you go back home on your own, or do I have to call the police and tell them there's a lost kid who needs a ride home over here?"

Henry opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it and turned around with a sigh. He had sneaked out after Regina went to bed, and could probably do without the police bringing him back home. Slowly retracing his steps to the subway station, he suddenly stopped before even realizing why, and some of the bouncer's words just clicked. This strange curvy yellow car, parked a few blocks away from the club… It was a bug! Like the one in the Disney movie! His heart thumped harder. How many yellow bugs like this one could there be? This was his mother's car.

He sat on the sidewalk next to the bug and started waiting.

"Hey, kiddo, are you OK? Do you need anything?" A hand shook Henry's shoulder and he jerked awake. He had fallen asleep, his head on his knees. He sprung up awkwardly, not fully used to the length of his teenager's arms and legs yet. The person who had awakened him was a young woman in her thirties. She had long blond hair, was dressed in skinny jeans, riding boots, a tight t-shirt and a red leather jacket. He recognized her face at once from his Google search.

"Are you OK?" she repeated gently, looking concerned.

"Yes I am," Henry stammered, "Sorry, I just fell asleep. The guy at the club wouldn't let me in, so I decided to wait for you…"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "You're a bit young for night-clubbing. Not that I don't appreciate having new fans. You love music that much?"

"Actually, I do," Henry confessed. "But that's not why I'm here," he added, reddening. "You… You're Emma Swan, right?"

"Yes I am," she answered, frowning. "I thought you knew, since you came to see me. Why are you asking?"

"Just checking," said Henry. "I'm, er… Your son. The one you gave up at birth, fourteen years ago? My name's Henry."

Having introduced himself, he automatically held out his hand for a shake, then dropped it and seemed at a loss about what to do next, staring awkwardly at his feet.

Emma was speechless. She had never told anyone about the baby. If that boy had found her, he had to tell the truth. She looked at him. In the streetlights, he was a lanky teenage boy, already as tall as she was, with shiny dark hair, dark eyes and a nose that had grown a little too big for his still smooth and childish face. She couldn't see any likeness to herself or to his father in him. Fuck, what was she supposed to do? Hug him?

"Oh," she finally said. "But what are you doing here? Don't you have school tomorrow?"

The boy looked at her, his eyes full of expectation. "I had to meet you," he said in a hoarse voice. "My mum is horrible. The one who adopted me, I mean. She hates me. I can't stay with her any longer. Please, help me."

"Wow," said Emma, overwhelmed. "Wait a minute – you do realize that giving you up means I have no legal rights over you anymore?" She suddenly felt on the verge of freaking out. How are you supposed to react when your teenage son, whom you haven't seen since the day he was born, suddenly materializes in front of you in the middle of the night and begs for your help? She had no idea about what a mother would do. After all, she never had one herself.

Henry, visibly torn between his feelings and his wish to behave like a grown-up, was trying his best to pretend it was no big deal, but was wearing his heart on his sleeve, and seemed upset enough to burst into tears at any moment if she didn't do _something_. Emma had been a mother for barely five minutes and she was already a disappointment to her son. She took pity on him and made a decision. As a parent she had no idea what to do, but she was a good listener. "Come on, kiddo," she said, "There's a diner over there. Let's go grab something and talk."


	3. Chapter 3

"How dare you," snapped Regina, outraged, "come to my home to teach me how to raise _my_ son!"

"You're not listening!" Emma protested. "Jeez, will you just hear me out for one minute?! _He_ came to me! He didn't want to go back home, he wanted to stay with _me_. You guys have serious issues! I thought you'd like to know."

"Well, thank you for bringing Henry back home, Miss…"

"Swan," said Emma.

"…but none of this is your business," Regina concluded. "Now if you'll excuse me, it's very late and we have to get up early tomorrow."

Regina, dragged out of bed in the middle of the night by the doorbell, was in her silk pyjamas, robe and slippers.

"It's four in the morning," Emma pointed out, rising from the immaculate couch where she was sitting opposite to Regina. "You're not going to send Henry to school with only three hour's sleep, are you?"

"School is not optional. He has to deal with the consequences of his choices," Regina stated firmly. "He'll just go to bed early tonight."

"He'll run away again, you know," Emma warned, "And I can't just pretend he doesn't exist now. I _am_ his biological mother after all."

"Indeed, that explains a lot…" Regina answered, looking Emma up and down as if she were something the cat had dragged in.

"Hey! Henry is so miserable that he ran away from _you_! It's not _my_ fault if he hates you!" Emma replied sharply.

Regina rose. Her face was carefully controlled, although her deep brown eyes were staring daggers at Emma. _God_ , Emma thought, completely off topic, _that woman is beautiful._

"You leave us alone!" Regina said. "Henry has everything he needs. I don't want to hear about you ever again!" And she encroached angrily upon Emma's personal space, the better to enforce her threat.

"As a matter of fact…" Emma mumbled, distracted by Regina's closeness. She was close enough for a slap. Or a kiss. Those dark sparkling eyes and full lips. That perfume. And that cleavage… Unexpectedly out of bed, barely dressed and with no make-up on, there was no denying that Regina was indeed a gorgeous woman. _And the mother of your son_ , Emma chided herself inwardly. Which made her thoughts completely inappropriate, especially in the middle of a spat about child rearing. She did her best to get her head back into the game.

"As a matter of fact _what_?" Regina barked.

"Hm, you'll lose control entirely if you don't let Henry do _some_ things. He is fourteen. You can't keep him at home forever. And he really wants to see me again. I promised him that I'd teach him how to play the guitar -"

"Excuse me?!" said Regina, as genuinely horrified as if Emma had offered to initiate Henry to the art of hustling.

"Don't worry, I got this," Emma explained, misinterpreting Regina's horror. "I'm a professional guitarist. I have a good gig going on in a downtown club with Ruby, a rock singer. I'm one of her side musicians."

"Of course you had to play the guitar," Regina sighed, looking disgusted. "Didn't Henry tell you? He already plays the cello. We don't need you and your guitar." She glared fiercely at Emma.

"Hey," said Emma. "Playing the guitar is an honest job and I love it, I won't let you trash it! Sorry if it's not fancy enough for your classical ass, but I have nothing to be ashamed of!"

"I won't let my son become some… Street musician," spat Regina. "He could become so much more!"

"Don't you want him to be happy?" Emma asked.

"Of course I do! But I want him to live up to his potential, not to yours!"

"Or do you mean _yours_? No doubt mine is not high enough for you."

"Well," Regina snapped, blushing with indignation and coming close enough to Emma for her to catch another whiff of her heady perfume, " _I_ am not the one who gave him up in the first place. You don't have a say in his life anymore. Now please leave."

Emma couldn't help noticing – completely irrelevantly – that the deep blush illuminating Regina's fair skin like a sunrise made her look even more beautiful.

"I gave him up because I thought it was his best chance to be happy," she answered softly. "I hoped he was."

As if thunderstruck by Emma's simple words, Regina lowered her eyes and stepped back. Embarrassed, Emma wondered what to do. She had the irrational urge to comfort Regina, even though her son had spent more than an hour explaining what an awful, cold and heartless mother she was. But Emma could tell that Regina wouldn't accept any support from her anyway.

"Listen," she said. "We're both tired and upset. Let's call it a night, OK?" She took one of her club's flyleaves from her jacket and scribbled something on the back. "Here's my phone number. Henry has it too. Call me when you have decided what to do." And she left.


	4. Chapter 4

"Wow, this is awesome!" Henry, beaming, was delighted to finally enter the club, even at an hour when it was still empty – it only opened to customers later in the evening.

Regina had seemed to take Emma's advice about controlling part of what she couldn't stop from happening, and she had allowed Henry to visit Emma at the club after school and play the guitar if he wanted, on the condition that he'd be back for dinner and keep playing the cello as well for the time being. And of course, no slacking on the homework front.

After offering Henry a tour of the club, Emma took him backstage to the dressing room. Ruby and the drummer would only come shortly before opening hour for a quick sound check, so Henry and Emma had the place to themselves.

Henry was dying to play the guitar, and Emma had brought an extra one of hers. She explained to him the intervals between the strings, which were different from a cello's. He tried to play a couple of scales, grinning broadly in spite of his wrong notes. Emma smiled as she watched him figure things out, thinking how different from her he had turned out. His exquisite politeness and impeccable behaviour had Regina's name written all over. He also seemed quite educated and cultivated for his age.

Emma let him fumble a bit longer, then played a few chords on her own guitar. "Cool!" he exclaimed, perking up some more. She played a basic blues, humming a wordless tune over her guitar chords, then showing him how to play the chords. "You've got to loosen up a bit, kid! Music is about making people feel emotions. You won't get that by playing scales all night long. Just try to express your feelings!" Henry played the chords, awkwardly at first, then gaining confidence. A few moments later, he started singing improvised lyrics as well.

"Hey, not bad!" Emma cheered. "You're a fast learner! And unlike me, quite a decent singer!"

"Yeah," Henry answered, "I sang in a kids' choir until my voice broke. Mostly classical stuff, but we learnt some gospel songs as well. It was cool."

"Seems to me," Emma pointed out thoughtfully, "that you had the opportunity to do a lot of interesting things thanks to your Mum. I'd never have considered putting my son in a choir!"

"Well," Henry admitted, "music is the thing my mother loves most – way more than anything else. She's a great musician, you know. She's the most important musician in her orchestra, right after the conductor – that's called a concertmaster. It means she's the lead of the first violins and gets to play all the solos. But she's really picky and she hates pop music. She basically thinks it's just good enough for tone-deaf people. She's pitch perfect, you see."

"What about you?" asked Emma.

"Oh, I'm not! I think it's one reason why she's never happy with my playing. Strings are hard – there are no frets on a cello or violin's fingerboard to help us play in tune – and to my mother, every slightly wrong interval is like chalk squeaking on a blackboard. But I just can't hear things the way she does! And _I_ like pop music. It's… you know… also music."

"Yep. You're right – music is music. The point is to play _good_ music. I never went to a music school, I learnt to play the guitar on my own – actually, it was your father who first taught me the basics -"

"My father!?" Henry pounced. "Who is he? Are you still with him? Can I see him?"

"Easy, kid!" Emma smiled. "His name's Neal. He was my boyfriend when I was eighteen. He was an orphan like me. Pity he always came up with bad ideas about how to get money… We got caught for stealing watches. I took the blame for both of us because I didn't have a criminal record yet, and he disappeared while I was in jail. Sorry kid," she added, "I never heard from him again. That's why I had to give you up. I couldn't raise you in jail, so I had to let you go. I figured you'd be better off without me."

"Did my father _know_ you were pregnant?" Henry asked indignantly.

"I never had a chance to tell him. When I found out, he was already gone. I could never make contact with him again."

"You mean he never wrote or called or anything?" exclaimed Henry, shocked.

"Sorry, kiddo," Emma repeated gently. "Neal was barely an adult at the time. Being responsible was not really his thing. Believe me, you were better off without him too. Don't you have an adoptive father?"

"No, I don't," Henry replied. "It's only been me and my mother for as long as I can remember. She hates needing anyone. I think she scares men away."

Emma could see Henry's point. Regina was quite impressive and seemed really good at keeping people at arm's length – including her own son apparently, whether she wanted it or not. Yet she definitely gave up a sexy vibe and was extremely attractive, Emma thought, sidetracked again by inappropriate memories of Regina in her silk pyjamas. There was no way such an appealing woman was alone _all_ the time. Emma couldn't help wondering what it took to get her attention.


	5. Chapter 5

A few weeks later, Emma did get Regina's attention, although not quite the way she'd have chosen.

Henry was regularly visiting her at the club in the afternoon a few times a week, and played the guitar with her. Everything seemed under control. And then, Ruby happened. Maybe Emma shouldn't have insisted so much on Henry loosening up a bit. Or maybe he would have done just the same anyway.

"I'm really sorry, Regina," said Emma, feeling terribly guilty. "I swear I never saw that coming, or I wouldn't have left him alone backstage for a minute!"

"Oh," Regina replied, furious, "so _that_ 's your excuse for bringing me back my son passed-out _drunk_?! I knew it was a bad idea to let him see you!"

"It was an accident!" Emma pleaded. "Minors can't drink at the club, and Henry wasn't supposed to find alcohol in the dressing room! I hadn't realized Ruby had left that flask of whisky!"

"You were responsible for him," Regina pointed out. "You had to watch over him. It's obvious that you're totally unfit to be a parent. You can't be trusted!"

"I already feel guilty as hell, OK?" Emma admitted miserably. "But Henry is a teenager, he's experimenting. We all did the same at his age." Regina glared at her in disgust, making perfectly clear without uttering a word that _she_ most certainly did not.

Emma refrained from mentioning that she believed Henry was actually trying to work up the nerve to talk to Ruby after the rehearsal. He seemed to have developed a major crush on the scantily clad singer and her endless legs, which made him lose his speech each time she so much as looked at him.

"Anyway, since he had never drunk a drop of alcohol before," Emma concluded, "it didn't take much to - "

"Are you saying it's _my_ fault if my son is dead drunk after spending a few hours at _your_ club? When Henry listens to _my_ orchestra, he doesn't end up risking ethylic coma!"

Emma was dying to answer, "I'm sure when he listens to your fancy stuck-up music he doesn't need any alcohol to fall asleep," but not wanting to add fuel to the fire, she settled for a weak, "Come on, there was only so much whisky in that flask. He'll sleep it off and be just fine."

"I suppose _you_ should know," Regina replied coldly, staring Emma down as if she were the epitome of depravation. "Well, for Henry's sake, I think you've made it clear that our little experiment is now over."

"I _am_ sorry, for God's sake!" Emma cried. "What else do I have to do to prove it?! But you can't forbid Henry to see me! It will blow in your face."

"I'll take the risk." Regina said in a final tone. "Now, will you please leave."

Emma was still standing in the hallway with her jacket on, having never been invited further in after helping a very drunk Henry into the apartment. She hovered, undecided. Regina's ire was justified, and Emma was mad at herself too for letting such a thing happen. But there was something so rigid and unaccommodating about Regina that it made her want to fight back, no matter how guilty she was in the first place. Regina made her feel exactly like Henry, writing her off as if she could never be good enough. Emma could understand why, having no other parent to look up to, the boy was so miserable with her.

Emma did her best to suppress her anger and tried a different angle. "Raising a kid is hard, I get it. I thought I couldn't do it alone, that's why I gave him up. So why do _you_ do it on your own?"

Regina glared at her. "Why? Do you think I need a _man_ to save me and my son?" she said in a scornful tone.

Emma smiled ironically. "Well, a good old father figure probably wouldn't hurt, but this is absolutely _not_ what I said. I just meant, maybe it does help to share this with _someone_."

"That someone being you, I suppose," stated Regina, once more looking Emma up and down with utter contempt. "My dear, you've just proved how capable you are."

"Come on," Emma insisted, "This is new to me. Give me another chance!" Mirroring her antagonist, she looked Regina up and down. Regina's eyes were blazing from their argument, her cheeks rosy and her chest heaving with righteous indignation. With her perfect hairdo and impeccable tailor-made clothes, she was absolutely proper from head to toe, yet she managed to be smoking hot. Each time Emma looked at her, the sharp contrast captured her attention like a magnet. Until now, she had done her best to ignore her attraction, but right now, Regina was being so infuriatingly superior that Emma didn't care how much this was a terrible idea to let her desire show – she just craved the satisfaction of unsettling the damn woman, if only a little.

Regina's expression changed under Emma's openly lustful stare. Flashing her white teeth between full red lips in a carnivorous grin, she raised an eyebrow and said. "Oh, so _this_ is what you want?" Slowly, she walked up to Emma, her dark brown eyes now deliberately staring at her mouth, her breasts, her… Emma felt her body react strongly and her mouth go dry. Then Regina authoritatively put one arm around Emma's waist, slid her other hand into her nape, and kissed her.

Regina's kiss was no tender first kiss – it was a declaration of war. Emma felt her brain explode and surrender before even considering fighting back. Regina, carrying on with her attack, resolutely pulled Emma closer to her. Emma felt a jolt of pleasure as her body pressed into Regina's. Her knees weakened. So much for unsettling the damn woman, she thought confusedly, wanting nothing more than that kiss to never stop, even if Regina seemed ready to bite her at any moment. The thrill of danger only made things more exciting.

The next thing Emma knew, Regina abruptly pulled away and stepped back out of arm's reach. Panting, stunned with pleasure and surprise, Emma hazily registered that she was now standing outside the apartment, on the landing. "How predictable!" Regina said with a satisfied smirk. "Goodbye, Miss Swan." And she closed the door to her face.


	6. Chapter 6

"Brace yourself!" whispered Sidney, one of the clarinet players, to his co-worker Mary Margaret who was just arriving, her flute in one hand and her sheet music in the other. "The Evil Queen is in a _really_ bad mood today! She made Belle burst into tears during the strings rehearsal."

Mary Margaret, a plump little woman with a round, happy face, opened her eyes a bit wider, but as she always tended to assume the best in people, she said, "Regina must have some personal issues. If she's lashing out, it has probably nothing to do with us."

All the musicians were pouring in for the general orchestra rehearsal, and indeed, they were greeted by Regina yelling at them to get settled faster. Once they were all in their seats, Regina conducted the tuning up of the instruments, section by section. As the concertmaster, she was in charge of making sure the orchestra was ready to play before the conductor arrived. She was usually sharp and efficient but today, she and her perfect pitch were more unforgiving than usual. "Mary Margaret!" she snapped impatiently, staring daggers at the short-haired brunette, "Do you think you can play something vaguely sounding like an A anytime soon, or would you rather go home and get yourself a decent pair of _ears_?"

Some of the musicians smiled in spite of themselves, while others looked shocked at Regina's harshness. "Hey," protested Mary Margaret's husband David, a trumpet player, "Her A was just fine! Whatever your problem is, don't take it out on us!"

Regina glared at him with obvious contempt. "I must admit, my dear David, that it's quite a challenge for anyone to play in tune with the sound of your trumpet in their ears," she stated icily. David stood up, reddening, and opened his mouth to reply, but Mary Margaret mutely gestured him not to escalate the situation as the conductor was now entering the room.

"Good morning everyone," said the little man cheerfully in a slightly nasal voice. He put his walking stick against his music stand. "Concertmaster, I trust everyone is ready?"

"As ready as they'll ever be, Sir," Regina admitted half-heartedly.

"Wonderful! Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to start with the Tchaikovsky Serenade. If you will give me the first chord -" Gold raised his baton, and the orchestra started rehearsing.

In such days, Regina was glad she was not a conductor, because she hated everyone so much for being stupidly and ordinarily happy that she could never have gotten them to play like Gold did. The strings rehearsal she had just conducted had been a total disaster. Regina's foul mood had caused the other violins to play worse and worse the more she hassled them about improving, until that silly little Belle had ended up crying her eyes out. Gold, on the contrary, knew exactly how to get what he wanted from every single person in the orchestra, including Regina, who had been his pupil when he was still teaching the violin.

Anyway, now that the opportunity of making other people miserable had passed for the time being and she was not in charge anymore, Regina did her best to put all her unpleasant thoughts aside and focus on the music. She _was_ a great violin player, after all. And music would do that to her – make her forget almost anything else.

But of course, what had been upsetting Regina was still there when she left the rehearsal, ignoring David and Mary Margaret as she brushed past them to get her violin case. Damn Emma! Her appearance had made Regina's life with Henry more difficult than it already was, bordering now on unbearable.

Since Henry's alcohol intoxication, Regina had forbidden him to meet Emma again, and he was being completely infuriating. To make sure he didn't run away again, Regina had a baby-sitter pick him up and stay with him after school. She had also put an extra lock on the front door, to which Henry didn't have the key, so that he couldn't slip out anymore when his mother was asleep. In retaliation, he now refused to talk to her, or to play the cello, and his grades were dropping.

After much hesitation, Regina hadn't confiscated Henry's phone. It was a useful item. Thanks to a tracking app on her own phone, she knew exactly where her son was at any time of the day or night. Besides, she didn't want to isolate him from his friends, and he might need to call for help or for any practical reason. But Regina knew that Henry could also reach Emma, and so she figured they must have kept in touch. Regina had considered having Emma's incoming number blocked, but had decided against it. Since Emma wanted to be a co-parent, if she had the slightest notion of common sense she might at least prevent Henry from acting out in a way that would endanger him. But now, for Regina, managing her teenage son was a living hell.

Emma hadn't tried to contact Regina since the night she had been thrown out. They would have to meet sooner or later though. Regina had to admit that she was getting nowhere with Henry, things were only getting worse, and she needed help before the boy actually ruined his chances to go to college and get a decent education. But the idea of meeting Emma again was… upsetting, although not only because of whatever part the blonde woman wanted to play in Henry's education, actually.

That night, when Regina had kissed Emma, she had acted on the spur of the moment, more as a cruel joke to get rid of her unwanted guest than anything else. She could tell from the familiar look on Emma's face that she was attracted to her, and even if that kind of riff-raff with appalling tastes in fashion and music was usually way below Regina's amorous standards, she hadn't thought twice before claiming such an easy victory.

The thing was… Since she had kissed Emma, Regina didn't seem to be able to get her out of her head. The earnest and passionate way the blonde woman had answered her kiss, the deep moan that had escaped her when Regina had deliberately pressed her body against hers, the helpless quiver that had run through her, her lost expression when Regina had stopped kissing her – Regina felt curiously uneasy as all the detailed memories of the scene kept vividly coming back to her, popping up uninvited into her mind and causing stirs in her belly.

There was something deeply unsettling for Regina in the fact that she couldn't stop thinking about Emma. Surely, it was just a matter of desire? Something she could easily fix by finding someone to release all that pent-up energy. It _had_ been a while. But Regina didn't do relationships anymore – not since Daniel's death. She usually didn't bother beyond one-night stands. The problem was – and Regina hated to admit such an unacceptable thing – Emma had moved her. Whatever now made Regina feel drawn to her was far more complicated than blunt desire.

If only she didn't have to meet Emma again. But she had to, for Henry's sake.


	7. Chapter 7

When Regina entered the club, it was half-full and the evening concert had already started. There were three people on stage: the singer, Emma, and a drummer in the back. Ruby, the singer, scantily dressed in a black mini-skirt, an unbuttoned white shirt tied over a red bra and her hair up in a huge messy Amy-Winehouse-style bun, was whispering a ballad into her mic. The drummer accompanied her with light brush strokes. Emma was wearing boots, tight black jeans, and a white tank top that Regina found excessively vulgar. She was playing a dark-red acoustic-electric guitar with an ebony fretboard and mother-in-pearl inlays. Quite a beautiful instrument, Regina noticed in spite of herself.

Regina sat at the bar and ordered a whisky. After some consideration, she called back the bartender. "Make it double," she demanded. Sipping at her drink, she did her best not to take personally the singer's appalling husky voice, the terrible triviality of the binary rhythm and the general lack of interest of the so-called melody. No imagination here, and hardly any music at all as far as Regina was concerned.

Then the song came to a bridge. Ruby stopped singing – which Regina thought was really a good idea – and Emma played a guitar solo.

Regina put her drink down, intrigued. The style was not conventional, but after what she had just heard, it wasn't bad at all. Emma had quick, deft fingers, an acute sense of rhythm, her chords were bold, and her playing showed real melodic creativity. Regina was hard to please, but as a musician she always acknowledged talent when she heard it. Emma hadn't lied – she could actually play.

When the band took a break, Emma had already spotted Regina sitting at the bar for a while. It was hard not to. Regina was dashing in her dark-red silk blouse, by far the most attractive woman in the room, and men kept trying to buy her drinks. Emma joined her. "Hi," she said. "Have you come to see me? Is something wrong with Henry?"

"Thanks to you, _everything_ is wrong with Henry," Regina answered sourly. "Is there a place where we can talk more privately? If one more idiot offers me a drink, I might just throw it in his face." Suppressing a smile, Emma gestured Regina backstage. "I only have a few minutes," she said. "You should have called or come earlier, I'd have more time."

"We'll make do, my dear." Regina looked absent-mindedly around the empty dressing room. Curiously, the side of the room that looked like Emma's, judging by the guitar case and by the awful red-leather jacket on the back of a chair, was quite well-kept and tidy compared with the other one – obviously Ruby's territory – where utter chaos reigned.

"So?" Emma asked.

"So _what_?" Regina pounced. "I'm quite sure you're in a better place than I am now to tell me what's going on in my son's head! He won't speak, he won't play music, he won't study. The only thing I seem to be able to make sure is that he stays at home."

"For how long?" Emma replied. "Do you really think he'll accept to remain locked in much longer? This is not the answer."

"This is all your fault!" Regina accused. "Since you are such an experienced mother, what are _you_ suggesting?"

"All this happened because _you_ wouldn't let him see me anymore," Emma reminded her. "Do you still think it was such a good idea?"

Regina hated Emma for lecturing her, and twice as much for being right. "I'm here, aren't I?" she snapped. "Now, let's find a way to end this situation."

"I could visit Henry at your apartment," Emma offered. "The three of us could talk things through. I'll bring my guitar to motivate him into accepting a few compromises."

"He's such a pigheaded little -" Regina growled, glaring at Emma as if she were sole responsible for each and every one of Henry's faults.

"You do realize I'm trying to help you deal with your son, right?" Emma asked without thinking, affronted by Regina's resentful look.

"You mean _your_ son?" Regina heard herself say. Immediately, she wished she hadn't. Henry was _her_ son, she had raised him from infancy, and even if he really was a challenging kid, especially these days, she'd rather die than admit to anyone else that they had any rights over him. Yet it was just what she had done, and in front of his biological mother too.

Emma looked at Regina silently, unsure about what to say. On the one hand, she could swear that Regina didn't really mean that, no matter how thin Henry had worn her lately. Regina might not be good at expressing it, but she loved her son. On the other hand, even if technically she _had_ given birth to him, Emma doubted she really qualified as a mother. She had known Henry for just a few weeks, and still had no idea how to be a parent. Emma was a welcome distraction for her son right now, but for all her faults, Regina was the one who had always been there for Henry.

After her last statement, Regina blushed as a sickening wave of shame washed over her. To her confusion, her eyes filled with tears, that she desperately tried to hide by turning around and taking deep breaths to pull herself together.

"Hey," Emma said, gently putting her hand on Regina's shoulder. "I know you didn't mean that. Neither did I, for the record. Don't worry, we can work this out."

Regina faced her, now incensed, her eyes still glittering with tears. "There is no "we"! _I_ am Henry's mother, not you!" she hissed hotly. "You should never have come back in his life! I hate you!"

Emma said nothing, looking at her with an understanding look on her face, so unbearable to Regina that she literally jumped at her and started kissing her fiercely, grabbing her with borderline roughness. Emma, who hadn't seen that one coming, was overcome at once by a massive influx of sensations, most of them deliciously thrilling, although she could feel once again the underlying threat in Regina's fierce kisses and touch.

Emma was aware that this was a power game. Regina, hating the fact that she needed her to deal with Henry, was trying to get the upper hand on her again. But as she kissed Regina back, seizing fistfuls of her silk blouse to untuck it from her skirt and delighting in the feeling of the brunette's smooth skin under her fingertips, she just couldn't bring herself to care. She had feared the kiss from the other night was only an accident and would never happen again, so this time she just wanted a chance to finish what they had started.

Promisingly, Regina got Emma's tank top out of the way in no time and sent it flying across the room, nibbling hard at the blonde woman's nipples over her bra in her haste to take her over. Pinning Emma against the wall, one hand busy undoing the button of her jeans and impatiently sliding underneath, she had her at her mercy, already panting and writhing in pleasure, when the dressing room door suddenly burst open.

"Emma, what the f – Oh, sorry to interrupt!" Ruby was standing in the doorframe, not looking even remotely sorry, and eyeing them shamelessly with a crooked smile. "Break's over, Em," she said. "Need you back on stage now!" She left reluctantly, ogling Regina with obvious interest.

Regina, who hadn't given one inch of ground yet, suddenly let go of Emma and backed away, tucking her blouse back in. "This is not over," she growled.

Emma couldn't tell if it was a threat or a promise. Her heart was beating wildly and her blood almost painfully throbbing between her legs. "I fucking hope it's not," she sighed.


	8. Chapter 8

"Finally!" Emma sighed, as Regina's dark hair brushed against her naked torso. Regina's mouth latched onto one of her breasts and one of Regina's hands between her legs were making her quickly lose the ability to think. Regina shifted, and even before Emma could feel her mouth on the most intimate part of her body, the mere thought of it was almost enough to send her over the edge. The feeling of Regina against her was so powerful and the pull between them so strong that it only took moments.

When Emma opened her eyes a few minutes later, her body still glowing with pleasure, Regina was lying next to her, half-reclining on one elbow and watching her intently. Emma, still dazed, put her arms around Regina and pulled her on top of her, holding her tight. Regina's weight on her knocked the air out of her lungs a little, but Emma delighted in the feeling of Regina's firm body over hers.

"What do you think you're doing?" Regina asked indignantly, trying to disentangle herself.

"Hugging you," Emma answered. "Is it OK?"

"Certainly not," Regina snapped, freeing herself from Emma's embrace. "For your information, I'm not the cuddling type."

"What a surprise," said Emma, a bit hurt. "Fine, whatever." Indeed, it wasn't such a surprise. Yet, when moments later she couldn't resist caressing Regina's gorgeous face and body, tenderly tracing all the plains and valleys of this intimate landscape with the tips of her fingers, the brunette just closed her eyes and said nothing.

Regina's body was intoxicating, and Emma wanted these moments to never end. She teased and teased her, but Regina – who'd rather die than beg for release – made the experience unforgettable, reacting to the slightest touch, and when she came, withholding nothing, she was the most glorious sight Emma had ever seen.

Emma was dying to cuddle Regina and relax in her arms now, but she couldn't bring herself to do it anymore. Curiously shy considering that they were both naked in bed after thoroughly exploring each other's body, she lay down a careful few inches away from Regina, her hand only slightly touching her lover's arm. She felt a delicious drowsiness sweep over her tired limbs, but stayed awake, her mind clear and acutely aware of the tiniest sensations.

She could hear Regina drift into sleep though, her breathing becoming slow and deep. A few moments later, Regina turned around and draped one arm around Emma's waist, her body snuggling against Emma's and her head nestling on Emma's shoulder. Emma took her in her arms, gently stroking her naked back. Definitely not a cuddler, she thought, smiling to herself.

What a night! It had started with Emma and her guitar showing up as promised to placate Henry, and the three of them having a serious talk. Henry, omitting the Ruby part, admitted that drinking alcohol was irresponsible and ill-advised, and apologized for having been horrible. Regina, with much reluctance, recognized that she had overreacted, and gave Henry permission to meet Emma again – on a zero alcohol basis of course – if he fixed his school grades. Emma pointed out with embarrassment that she didn't have any experience as a mother, and that the last thing she wanted was to stand between Regina and Henry. Her son nonetheless looked at her with as much adoration as a teenage boy would show, while Regina, glancing at him with renewed exasperation, cast a sidelong look at Emma, clearly meaning, "You'd better remember that!"

Then Henry offered to play a couple of songs he had written with Emma, and Regina, after listening intently, said they were not half as bad as most of the horrors you could hear everywhere. Coming from Regina, this was a huge compliment, and Henry literally lit up, beaming. The three of them ate out, and it was surprisingly easy, as if they were always meant to be this happy family, a teenage boy and his two mums.

Back home, after Henry went to bed, Regina offered Emma a last drink.

"So, when you said it wasn't over, that night at the club…? " Emma asked. She left her sentence unfinished, casting on Regina an unmistakable look of lust, but not moving from where she was, across from her.

Regina considered her with unreadable eyes. "Excuse me for a moment," she said. After making sure that Henry was not playing video games but actually sleeping, she came back and gave Emma a searing kiss.

"This way," she said, taking her by the hand. And she locked quietly her bedroom door behind them.

ooo

Regina stirred in Emma's arms and opened her eyes. One second later, she was tearing herself away from Emma, hastily backing up as if burnt by her contact. "You're welcome, it was nice being your pillow," Emma joked weakly, her heart tightening at Regina's reaction.

Regina's face darkened. "Why are you still here?" she asked, looking extremely annoyed. "You have to go before Henry finds you here!"

"What's the big deal?" Emma protested, puzzled. "We're grown women, we can see each other if we want to, right? I'm sure Henry won't mind."

"I will," snapped Regina. "I don't do relationships – not with you, not with anybody. It was just sex, Miss Swan, nothing more. Quite pleasurable indeed, but let's leave Henry out of this, shall we? Now go, please."

Emma's heart sank. Because of Henry, she had assumed that Regina would never choose _her_ of all people as one of her disposable one-night stands. Regina now stared coldly at her as if she could make her disappear out of sheer will. Emma was dying to argue with her. But she knew she was likely to yell, and _that_ was not how she wanted Henry to find out about his mothers sleeping together. Her eyes lingering on Regina's gorgeous body, now stiff and hostile under the sheets, Emma bit back a sharp comment and got out of bed to gather her clothes. Regina had won that battle.


	9. Chapter 9

Henry wanted Emma to come with him to one of Regina's concerts.

Emma was still reeling from the way Regina had treated her after the night they spent together. She hadn't tried to contact her since, though (neither had Regina). Emma knew better than calling Regina on the phone or ambushing her to make a scene, even if she was still tempted to. Besides, it wasn't all that clear to Emma why she found Regina's behaviour so offensive. Perhaps a matter of decorum? Sure enough, a goodbye kiss and a smile wouldn't have hurt.

Emma herself was not the greatest fan of long-term commitment, and the concept of spending a few hours in bed with someone just for fun, no strings attached, was one she was perfectly comfortable with. In fact, most of the time, she was the first one to act according to it, hating when people seemed to expect more of her. So why was it different with Regina? She wasn't sure. Maybe it just hurt her self-esteem to be the disposable one this time?

Anyway, she did her best not to let Henry feel how much she was upset because of Regina, even if she was determined for now to avoid being alone with her again. She had the feeling that Regina might keep wanting to see her and toss her out as soon as they were done, and no matter how glad Emma would usually be to sleep with a gorgeous woman who expected nothing else from her than a simple booty call, this time she wasn't in the mood to comply. Since there _was_ Henry to consider, it was probably best to stay away from Regina altogether.

Henry didn't make it easy for Emma to avoid Regina though. He was begging her to go with him to one of his mother's concerts. With a few other musicians from her orchestra, Regina had founded a string quartet, which was to play during one of Emma's nights off. "You _have_ to come!" Henry pleaded enthusiastically. "The program is _awesome_! They'll play the Rosamund quartet, and Borodin's number two, and -"

"Whoa, hold on kid! I don't know the first thing about classical music, remember? Who's that Rosamund?"

"Only one of the most beautiful string quartets _ever_! It's Schubert's number 13, and I find it even better than his famous number 14, Death and the Maiden! Not as obviously romantic, you see?"

"Not at all," Emma smiled. "I'll take your word for it! But I thought you were fed up with classical music?"

"Hm… It's not classical music actually," Henry admitted ruefully. "I kind of grew up in the orchestra's basket laundry, so… I just hate the way Mum keeps pushing me like I'm supposed to be the next Rostropovich and nothing else matters. I want to play what I like, for example Apocalyptica – it's hard rock music that makes a cello quartet sound like electric guitars, pretty awesome! But here's the thing about Mum: you _must_ hear her play in a quartet. That's where she totally rules!"

Henry explained to Emma that if Regina was great to boss everyone around as a concertmaster, you could barely hear her play during her orchestra concerts unless she had a solo, since all the first violins played the same thing. Which was a shame, because she was such an incredible player. In a string quartet you could really hear her play, and she was resplendent as a first violin.

Emma suspected that Henry might have perceived something of her unease about Regina after all. It seemed he was now trying to show her his Mum in her best light. No matter how much he hated her sometimes for parenting him the way she did, as a musician Regina could always count Henry as one of her most ardent supporters. Yeah, Emma thought, the kid was loyal to a fault. She wondered who he took that after.

It was hard for Emma to say no to her son who wanted so much to share this musical experience with her, regardless of how little she looked forward to seeing Regina again. Well, it was not really that she didn't look forward to seeing her… If anything, she felt a bit nervous about it. It was like meeting someone you had a crush on and who completely ignored you – no, the simile was stupid. Of course she didn't have a crush on Regina! And Regina completely ignored most people anyway. There was nothing to be nervous about. Regina would be on stage and wouldn't even so much as notice Emma in the audience.

To convince Emma to go, Henry had even brought some MP3 recordings of the quartets so she could listen to them. He played them for her and commented on them in an educated but also very sensitive way, which made her feel quite proud of him. She agreed to go.

* * *

Emma had Henry to thank for listening to the quartets beforehand, because she found out that she only enjoyed more the music this way. As guests, they had very good seats in the orchestra area, only a few rows away from the stage. Henry whispered to Emma that the acoustics was great from here. And so was the view.

The four musicians, all clad in black, entered and settled themselves, solemnly tuning up before they started playing. Henry told Emma that all of them were from Regina's orchestra. Belle, a cute young brunette with a heart-shaped face, played the second violin; a mischievous redhead, Ariel, played the viola; and Leroy, a grumpy looking bearded man, played the cello. It was quite a marvel to Emma that such a stocky man could play the cello so beautifully in spite of his short arms and large chubby fingers.

And then there was Regina. She was something else altogether. As the quartet played, Emma soon found herself completely mesmerized by her. The four musicians were quite good, all of them playing as naturally as if their instruments were extensions of themselves, just another one of their limbs. But Regina, although she didn't overdo her part and never tried to steal her partners' thunder, had something special. What was it? Emma, overwhelmed by a rush of emotions, could feel Regina's violin make her skin tingle and goose bump, her throat tighten and her eyes prickle. That was unexpected.

Emma knew very little about classical music. But as she had told Henry, music is music – and good music will do that to you, it will _touch_ you. In that case, it was not only good music (it was, if still unfamiliar to her) but also good playing. Emma could have guessed that Regina would be technically flawless. But it wasn't why her playing was so deeply moving. Regina seemed to pour the entirety of her heart and soul in the music, shadows and all, and whatever feelings she never displayed in real life, she just let loose under her bow. As she played and looked rapt, absorbed in the playing, her music was intensely alive with emotions. Emma had never heard such a beautiful and deeply expressive playing before.

Was she the same Regina? Here she was on stage, the cold and remote person who was so unlikely to display such intense emotions in public. How could she create such an enthralling, deeply personal music? Emma couldn't help thinking about their night together. For a while, Regina had let herself loose, completely honest and open, pouring into the moment everything she had to give; only, she had completely shut Emma out the minute she had come to her senses, pretending nothing had happened. Regina could only express herself freely through her music, which made her a great artist.

Too bad, Emma thought, watching in total awe Regina's gracious bow strokes and fantastically nimble fingers run up and down her violin' neck unerringly - _this_ woman I'd love to get to know.


	10. Chapter 10

Regina was depressed, and when she felt blue, she played Klezmer music. She was home alone, rehearsing in her soundproof studio, her back turned to the open door. Henry was meeting Emma after school and wouldn't be back for a couple of hours. Regina knew that the night before, he had dragged her to the quartet's concert, but she hadn't met the blonde woman at all – Emma had disappeared before she could even leave the stage – and that ending had left her strangely disappointed.

Regina admitted that it was probably her fault. She had quite lost control of her power game. Seducing people to wrap them around her little finger was nothing new to her, but rule number one was to never get attached, for god's sake! Thinking about someone obsessively, actually sleeping with them all night and waking up in their arms, giving a damn about their opinion as to her playing, well, _that_ hadn't happened to Regina since _… Since Daniel_ , a little unwelcome voice reminded her.

Since Daniel, she had always been careful to keep her personal relationships and occasional sex partners neatly separate. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that she had practically stopped bothering with personal relationships altogether. Romantic love was something she was through with. But with Emma Swan, she had let things get out of hand. As much as she wanted this relationship not to exist, there was a primary one that couldn't be denied – the one between Emma and Henry. For Henry's sake, Regina had to be at least civil to Emma. Sex should have remained out of the equation. Yeah, it had been a bad idea. Definitely. Well, not _bad_ , but… And the snuggling on top of everything! If Emma had decided to avoid her from now on, it was all probably for the best. And yet…

Hating herself for being so weak as to yearn for human companionship and intimacy in spite of her best judgement, Regina definitely felt blue. As she did in such cases, she played traditional Klezmer tunes on her violin until she felt better. The songs helped her cope with her overflowing emotions, because no matter how melancholy a Klezmer tune is, there's always a secret spark of joy ready to ignite underneath the surface – and vice-versa. And today, Regina really needed a dose of that medicine.

As a warm-up, Regina played the well-named "Dance of Displeasure" in a loop for a little while, going crescendo and faster and faster, and started feeling a little better. Still facing the window without really watching anything outside, she played another tune, stolen from the great Klezmer fiddler Alicia Svigals, "Romanian Fantasy N° 1". The song was so beautifully bittersweet that it ripped her heart out and soothed her aching soul at once.

Rapt in her playing, Regina turned around, slowly pacing the studio's carpeting – and nearly jumped out of her skin, surprised in the middle of an intricate gust of lilting semiquavers by the presence of an intruder leaning against the doorframe.

"Miss Swan!" she said icily. "I haven't heard you come in. I nearly dropped my bow!"

Regina could have happily killed Emma right now. How dared she show uninvited and disturb her in such a private moment? How insufferably rude! Regina lowered her violin threateningly, ready to skewer the invader at the tip of her bow.

"S—sorry." Emma said. "I—I didn't mean to disturb you. The door was open, and…" Her voice was low, a bit hoarse. Shaky, maybe?

Regina loved a good fight, but there seemed to be no fight in Emma. It wasn't fun. Still holding her violin in her left hand and her bow in the right, she came closer to get a better look at her. "Are you all right?"

There was a trail of tears on each one of Emma's cheeks, and her eyelashes were still wet. Emma wiped at her face impatiently, flushing pink with embarrassment. "I'm fine!" she mumbled.

"What's wrong?" Regina insisted, walking up to Emma again after carefully putting her instrument down in its case.

"Nothing," Emma confessed, mortified. "You play so beautifully it sounds like a human voice, and that tune was so incredibly sad and yet full of joy, I just got a bit emotional hearing it, that's all."

"Oh," said Regina, raising an eyebrow, "Well, thank you Miss Swan!" She was actually quite pleased with the compliment. Emma was already undone – there was no point in tearing her apart anymore. While Emma was discreetly sniffing the last of her tears away, Regina asked, "But what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be with Henry?"

"I was," Emma agreed. "But he said he needed to pick something up from his room first, and since I was in the neighbourhood, I was supposed to meet him here. And then I got a text from Henry. He says there's been a delay on his subway line and he'll be late."

"Well, you two can make up for it some other day I guess," Regina mused. Now was the time to get rid of Emma Swan with a few chosen words. Emma's spontaneous appraisal of her talent had tugged at Regina's vanity though. As Emma seemed about to leave, Regina added on an impulse, "I was about to make myself a cup of tea, would you care to join me? You can wait a little for Henry if you want."

Emma seemed surprised. Regina expected her to decline - there was no way Emma was a tea drinker - but the blonde woman, shrugging, replied "Why not? I'd like that, thank you!"

There was a bit of awkwardness between them as Regina filled the kettle and put the teapot, teacups, saucers, spoons, napkins, sugar, milk and lemon on a tray with a plate of homemade butter shortbreads. Regina was a meticulous housewife and a very good cook. The tea was ready in no time. When she turned around after filling the teapot with the perfectly heated water, Emma was gazing at her with a strange look on her face.

"What?" Regina asked.

"Nothing." Emma replied, averting her eyes.

"Seriously," snapped Regina with a hint of impatience, "What's wrong with you today? Is there something you want to talk about?"

"Hm," said Emma, "Sorry again, I'm kind of… In fact I don't get it. You were fantastic last night. I've never heard anyone play like you! And the way you were playing ten minutes ago, it's like… I can see the _real_ Regina. I know it's probably the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard, but it's just… How come you only care to show who you really are in your music? You're so awesome!"

There were many ways to understand what Emma had just said, and Regina could easily have chosen to take it the wrong way. But it was a good thing she wasn't holding the tea tray yet because she might have dropped it. _I can see the real Regina_. Nobody had told her that since… _Since Daniel_ , the little voice reminded her mercilessly. For all of her mother's lecturing, Daniel was always able to see through Regina's acts of cold aloofness, saying that the more she tried to hide the wonderful, warm and generous person she was, the more it showed in her music. _I can see the real Regina when you play, darling. I can hear her voice._ She had never fooled him, not for a second. But then, the only time Daniel had ever hurt her was the day he died. How come Emma of all people could see through her just the way Daniel did?

The Regina who had unwittingly asked Emma to join her for tea when she could have dismissed her in no time was dumbstruck for a moment. She thought about laughing the assumption of "the real Regina" away with a flippant, "Nonsense, my dear!" but then her eyes met Emma's, whose honesty and openness tugged at the part of herself that had just been called "the real Regina".

She sighed and thought, but didn't say, _the real Regina can't live in this world – she's too weak to survive_. Instead, she cupped one of Emma's cheeks with her hand, and looking her in the eye, let her thumb softly stroke her face for a brief moment, smiling sadly. "Come on dear," she said, taking the tea tray. "Let's have tea."


	11. Chapter 11

Against all odds, the tea turned out to be a curiously nice time for both of them. In fact, Regina invited Emma again. And again. And then it became a habit. Once a week, while Henry was out for his music theory lesson, Emma and Regina had tea together. Emma was usually greeted by the delicious smell of Regina's fresh pastries. Her apple turnover was nothing short of a miracle. When Henry came home about an hour later, Emma played the guitar with him. Then, more and more often, Henry would ask Emma to stay for dinner, and Regina's eyes would tell Emma that it was okay. Emma always left after dinner, generally to play at the club. But even if she didn't have to, she left anyway. She was a guest in this house, and didn't want Regina to think that she was trying to force her way back into her bed.

Indeed, after such a heated start, things had curiously stopped being physical between them. The attraction was still very real to Emma, but spending time with Regina was not about sex right now. Of course, Regina was insanely hot, but it was obvious she wasn't ready to deal with whatever was drawing them to one another right now, so Emma did her best not to let her own attraction sidetrack her. They had to get along for Henry's sake, and if to do so, Regina thought best not to fool around with Emma anymore, it was…surprisingly okay for the time being.

The fact was, since the day Emma had walked up on Regina playing her heart out in her studio, things had changed between them. Was it Regina who had changed, or Emma's look on her – she couldn't say. Maybe a bit of both. Regina was still that cold, scornful and snappy woman, but now Emma could tell how much more there was to her. She perceived the sweetness, the generosity, and yes, the _warmth_ carefully hidden underneath Regina's protective layers of aloofness and restraint. It was as if Emma had just met her. Regina was brilliant, extremely perceptive, and had a twisted sense of humour. Being with her was never boring for a second – everything about her was fascinating, as there seemed to be simply nothing she couldn't do to perfection. The more Emma spent time with her, the more she enjoyed her company.

One day, Emma realized that they were becoming friends. She had never been so close to another woman before – especially one so different from her – and it felt unexpectedly good. Besides, Emma was aware that it was much more difficult to become friends with Regina than to spend a few hours in her bed before being kicked out never to be seen again. It felt like a rare privilege to really get to know her – the amazing and so loveable side of her that she mysteriously preferred to keep to herself.

There was the attraction though. At times, Emma had trouble ignoring Regina's perfume, which reminded her untimely memories. There was the softness of her skin, when their fingers accidentally brushed over a teacup or a plate, and her full lips, so tantalizing – sometimes, Emma was so entranced with experiencing the physicality of Regina next to her that she didn't hear what she said. Damn, the woman was hot. But Regina didn't make the first move, and Emma was determined not to be the one who'd break the charm.

Emma was pretty sure that the first time she played the guitar for Regina was a desperate attempt to keep temptation at bay. As she was not very focused at first, the scene was a bit hazy in her memories. Desperate for a way to express herself, feeling powerless to translate half of what she felt into mere words, Emma just grabbed the guitar case she always carried to play with Henry afterwards, and improvised. It was a bold move, since Regina was not an easy listener. But Emma was confident that she was better at expressing herself with music than with words.

Regina listened to her for a few moments, amused by Emma's nerve. In her eyes, Emma could read a measure of approval, moderate at first, but growing as she kept playing. Regina started humming a tune to match Emma's improvisation, her body swaying slightly in rhythm. She got up, left the room and quickly came back holding her violin, on which she echoed Emma's tune.

The violin was naturally much louder than Emma's acoustic guitar, and Emma played more energetically to match Regina, who in turn played more gently so that she could still hear the guitar. Emma improvised a new theme. Regina echoed her and elaborated on it, adding decorations and variations, while Emma provided a bass before introducing a new theme as a counterpoint.

Regina was a classical musician who hardly ever played without a score, even if she was no stranger to Baroque and traditional music, in which there was room left for a measure of improvisation. Emma could hardly read a score and only played by ear, but then she could play just about anything she heard. They were a perfect match though, seeming to read each other's mind and decipher together the same invisible score. It was incredibly exhilarating, as if they had always been meant to play together – as if they had been doing so for years.


	12. Chapter 12

Emma and Regina's private jam sessions became part of their teatime meetings. They both had fun, Regina getting to improvise freely, building up on whatever Emma came up with; and Emma getting from Regina bits of folk and classical themes surging from her learned fingers, ternary beats and fiddle ornaments she tried to make sense of with her guitar.

More importantly, music conveyed their emotions and feelings better than words. When they talked, they discussed Henry, or work, or everyday life – they stuck to safe topics. But music was for both of them the door to unchartered, more thrilling territories.

"I'm your greatest fan!" first confessed Emma's eyes and music to Regina as she recreated from memory bits of the Rosamund quartet. Did Regina understand? She smiled and answered in kind, mimicking some of Emma's guitar variations, "You're not so bad yourself, dear." Or at least, that's what Emma thought she heard. From there, Emma went to "Do you like me? 'Cause _I_ kind of do," in the guise of a thoughtful tune in D minor. Regina replied with a dazzling variation in D major. "Silly, would you be here playing with me if I didn't?" Emma translated. That melody went to and fro in endless variations before Emma was finally convinced that she had got Regina's admission right. But Regina's warm gaze and genuine smile were quite impossible to misunderstand.

Emma barely slept that night. Something _was_ going on between them after all.

"You're so lovely today," next sang Emma's guitar as well as her very soul in a series of sunny chords in G, "I want to spend the rest of my life just looking at you." Regina played a string of lively triplets that seemed to gambol right into Emma's heart, seeming to answer mischievously, "I hope you intend to do _more_ than that!"

"I love you," Emma then serenaded hopefully. "My darling, you are _so_ mine," Regina replied fiercely in a passionate Romantic burst, her eyes shining and the loveliest rosy shade suffusing her cheeks. Wow, really? Was it where they were now standing?

Sometimes, Emma had doubts and told herself she might actually be making the whole thing up. How could such deep feelings be exchanged wordlessly between them, and how could she be sure that she understood all this correctly? But then, she looked at Regina who held her questioning gaze, unwavering and confident. She trusted her instinct – she was not alone in this. Still, beyond the music, Regina didn't make a move.

One day, Henry came home in the middle of one of their sessions. Usually, they played music first, and then had tea. That afternoon, they hadn't paid attention to the time, carried away by the trade of heated variations on a tango theme. "Wow, Mum," said Henry still in his coat from the doorframe, "This is hot! It sounds fantastic! Can I play with you?"

Emma and Regina, whose instruments had covered the noise of Henry's return, both turned to him in surprise, a little guilty to be caught in the middle of their feverish exchange. What exactly did he mean by hot? Regina was the first to pull herself together, and answered, discretely pleased, "Sure Henry, go get your instrument, we'll wait!"

Henry ran to his room. Regina gazed at Emma, a smile in her eyes. Emma winked and played a happy little theme on her guitar. Henry came back, holding his bow and cello. When Regina saw which instrument he had chosen, she beamed. "All right, Henry," she said, her voice thick with emotion, "Why don't you sit with Emma over there?"

Henry sat on the opposite end of the couch from Emma, making sure he had enough room to draw his bow, and adjusted his endpin. "Go on," he said, "don't wait for me, I'll catch up."

Emma smiled at him encouragingly and nodded to Regina, who played a merry folk theme a few times, each one adding minor variations. Emma picked up the theme and Regina's violin faded in the background, softly playing a bass line on its lower strings. After a few moments, Henry played the theme too, adding his own variations and ornaments. Regina picked up the theme again and the clear, high-pitched violin notes intertwined with the deep, vibrant ones of the cello. Making up for the lack of sound amplitude by the swiftness of her playing, Emma happily followed.

"Awesome!" Henry said when the session came to an end, grinning broadly. "Making music with you mums is so fun!"


	13. Chapter 13

Regina was over the moon with joy that Henry had taken an interest in playing the cello again, and she had to admit it was thanks to Emma, who had found a way to make playing music fun again for him by teaching him to compose songs and improvise. Emma had also come up, if not intentionally, with a way to remind Regina herself how much fun she could have when she loosened up a little. Now Henry rushed back home each week, eager to play with both of them. As he could play it much better than the guitar, most of the time he favoured his cello, whose sound beautifully merged with his mother's violin.

Today, Emma and Regina were just warming up and Henry wouldn't be back for another hour, but Emma seemed a little quiet, and she kept playing in minor keys. Regina's good mood started to fade as she shifted from her initial confident C major to a C minor to match Emma's dark chords.

Something was bothering Emma, and Regina thought she could even figure out what. What she could hear in Emma's music was a farewell – she was telling her goodbye. Regina's heart sank at the thought of Emma disappearing from her and Henry's life. For once, music was not enough. Regina needed to put words on this.

"All right," she said, laying down her violin on the coffee table, "What's with all the goodbyes? Are you leaving or what?"

Emma was doing her best not to meet her eyes. "My gig's over," she said. "Ruby's show was a success and we stayed quite longer than we had planned, but now we have to go. Ruby's manager found her another gig." Her voice dropped. "In California."

How come Regina had never questioned before the fact that Emma lived and worked here? Of course she was bound to leave sooner or later. She was a side musician. She went on tour with her leads and travelled all over the country, possibly beyond, from one gig to another. How many weeks had gone by since she had first rung at her door in the middle of the night? It seemed like yesterday. "When?" Regina asked curtly.

"Next week," Emma replied. "We're leaving in three days."

"I see," said Regina, her voice carefully neutral. It was all she could do not to start yelling at Emma right now. Emma had given up Henry once before. Of course she was leaving again. She wouldn't hesitate for a moment between him and her career. _People you love always leave you_ , reminded her the little voice in her head, _that's why you don't want to get attached, you fool._

 _Oh, shut up_ , Regina thought. _Who's talking about love anyway?_

But maybe Regina was being unfair after all. It was obvious that Emma herself had just found out she was leaving and was not happy about it.

"Have you told Henry?" Regina asked, her voice still carefully guarded.

"Not yet," Emma replied in a small voice, "I wanted to tell you first. I thought maybe…" She cast a helpless gaze at Regina. "I don't know," she concluded miserably.

What was it that Emma expected from her? Did she perchance hope that Regina would beg her to stay? Regina never begged. Emma was a grown-up. She could make her own decisions.

"You don't know how to tell Henry," Regina stated, deliberately choosing the easiest way out. "Start with not making a big deal out of it, for god's sake. You're not dying – you're going to California. You'll be back. And then you'll probably leave again. Henry will be fine. Just try to stay in touch with him _this time_." It didn't occur to her that just a few weeks ago, too happy to get rid of Emma, she'd have died rather than demanding such a thing.

Emma considered Regina silently for a few moments as if she wanted to say something. "Of course," she finally agreed, "He isn't a little boy anymore. And he has you."

Regina had something important to tell Emma, but somehow it kept eluding her. All she could think about right now was how she would help Henry deal with Emma's departure. "Yes," she repeated absent-mindedly, "Of course he has me."

Emma was putting her guitar back into her case. "I think I'm not going to wait for Henry today," she said. "I have some packing to do. I'll talk to him later."

Regina couldn't seem to find a single relevant word to say. Was Emma running away from _her_? What about their session?

The blonde woman stood up and held her gaze, her green eyes filled with sadness. "Well Regina, it was great playing music with you. I hope we'll do it again sometime. Bye then."

When Henry came home half an hour later, Regina was still sitting in the living room, her violin in her lap, the tea tray untouched. Emma was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

Emma explained everything about her California gig to Henry, and he did take things quite philosophically. He was fourteen – he wasn't going to whine about Emma going away, wasn't he? Emma had to make a living. Besides, he had basically spent all his life without her, what were a few more months? This time though, Emma promised to Skype and send emails and postcards and various packages of Californian treats while she was away. Indeed, Henry was fine. But he wasn't sure Regina was.

"Mum?" he asked for the third time. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Hmm? Yes, of course dear," Regina answered in an over-cheerful voice. "Don't worry, Emma will be back in no time."

"I'm not worried about Emma leaving, Mum," Henry said in his most earnest tone. "I'm worried about you – about _both_ of you. Emma is putting on a brave face, but it's obvious she's not happy. And you…"

"What about me?"

"Come on, Mum!" Henry replied, comically rolling his eyes as if he were the adult in the room. "I'm young, I'm not blind. You've been moping for two days, playing Klezmer like crazy and pretending everything is fine. She's leaving tomorrow. You need to talk to her _now_. Just go! I promise I'll behave."

Regina could feel her eyes widen in surprise and her cheeks burn as she suddenly flushed crimson with embarrassment. "What do you mean you're not blind?" she had to ask.

"I know you like her now, Mum." Henry said, patiently stating the obvious. "It's OK. We've been alone for too long, don't you think? You're so much happier when she's around! You two need to talk about stuff, because you're both miserable right now. Go before it's too late!"

Okay, this was quite clear – and definitely awkward. So, it was that obvious to her son that she _liked_ Emma. Regina believed she had never had this kind of conversation with Henry. But then, there had never been anyone to discuss before.

"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't go," Regina pointed out. "I don't know where Emma lives."

"Not a problem," Henry said cheerfully, getting his smartphone out of his pocket. "I do."

Of course he did.


	15. Chapter 15

_Author's note: I'd like to thank all the readers who stuck with me through the whole story. And thanks to all those who took the time to leave comments, it's great to know what you think! This is the last chapter of this fic, I hope you'll enjoy it :-)_

* * *

Emma was sub-renting a room in a neighbourhood where Regina was glad Henry never had to set foot. Regina herself was not too happy to watch her cab disappear in the night, leaving her alone on the sidewalk with her violin case hanging from her shoulder. She found Emma's building – no locked door to access the hallway – and climbed the stairs – no elevator. In front of Emma's door, she hesitated and took a deep breath, her hand poised to knock.

The second her hand was about to meet the wooden panel, the door opened, and Regina found herself facing Emma, in flip-flops, leggings and tank top, holding a pile of magazines.

"Oh," said Emma, jumping a little, "My god Regina, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Well," Regina smirked, "Remember the time you sneaked up on me in my studio? Now we're even."

"What are you doing here? Has anything happened to Henry?" Emma's eyes darkened as she waited for an answer, dumping the magazines on top of a pile of junk to recycle on the landing.

"Henry's fine." Regina reassured her. "He, hum, thinks you and I should talk about "stuff", imagine that... But I thought maybe you'd like to finish our last music session… You're probably too busy anyway. This is not the right time. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come."

Emma considered Regina silently for a moment, then backed away and motioned her to come in. "No, that's OK," she said. "My roommates are out, and I'm done packing up."

Emma showed Regina into the living room, where she sat on the couch to unpack her violin while Emma disappeared into her room to retrieve her guitar. They tuned up.

"You go first," Emma offered.

Regina nodded, and sticking her violin under her chin, played a love song. So, apparently this _was_ what she had in mind. She sighed and added a few grace notes to her languorous ballad.

Emma grinned and played an elated variation on the ballad. Emboldened, Regina threw in a long sensuous melodic moan in D minor. Emma answered with a series of caressing quavers that made Regina shiver in anticipation. She could feel the heat rising between them with each additional note. When they had started playing, Emma was sitting on the couch and Regina standing opposite to her at the other end of the room, but without Regina even noticing, they were now only a violin's length apart from each other. Regina's bow amorously stroked her violin's G string, drawing rapturous sounds out of it, and her gaze lingered on Emma's slightly parted lips.

And then, the next thing she knew, Regina, who was always so careful with her precious instrument, all but flung it on the coffee table and her mouth was on Emma's, burning and demanding. Emma, melting under her touch, blindly let her guitar slide to the floor, and returned her kiss as if her life depended on it.

The living room, littered with torn clothes, was becoming messier by the minute, and driven by a vague remain of decency at the prospect of Emma's roommates coming back, they staggered into Emma's bedroom, grasping at one another. They slammed the door shut and carelessly shoved Emma's bags off the bed to tumble on it. Regina's roaming hands and mouth soon claimed all of Emma's body, one of her thighs impatiently pressed between hers. It was deliciously intoxicating, and Emma so incredibly attuned to her every move…

Suddenly, Regina froze. Emma, her head nestled in the crook of her neck, was moaning, "I love you."

Regina didn't answer – people will say that in bed – but maybe in retaliation she nibbled and dug her nails a bit harder than usual into Emma's soft skin while she coaxed her closer and closer to orgasm. When Emma reached her climax and lay panting under her, momentarily deaf to the world, maybe Regina's cheeks were a bit wet – it was nothing, just a foolish gut reaction. She hastily wiped her face with the back of her hand then rolled onto her side and turned her back to Emma, fighting the urge to get dressed and leave at once.

A few moments later, Emma tentatively pressed her cooling body against Regina's back, and whispered in her nape, "You don't believe me, do you? I thought you felt the same. I'm sorry if I didn't get it right. I thought it was what our music was about."

Regina stiffened. Of course, love was what their music was about. It had taken two to play that game. But now… She was terrified to admit it to Emma in case she'd lose her. Something always went wrong when she loved someone. _But you love Henry_ , the little voice in her head pointed out, _and it turns out fine, after all._ Thanks to Emma, she thought, half-bitter and half-grateful.

Regina turned around and backed off slightly to look at Emma, who was gazing at her, quietly waiting for her verdict. "I hate you," she said in a voice she cursed for betraying just the opposite, "and besides, what's the point? You're leaving tomorrow."

"Yes I am," Emma answered, pushing her on her back and climbing astride of her. "But I'll be back," she promised, leaning forward to nibble at her chin, her naked breasts deliciously brushing against Regina's.

"You'd better be," Regina grumbled, holding back a happy sigh. "Henry's counting on you now."

Emma's pupils were dilated with desire, but her hands stopped whatever they were doing that was quickly making Regina lose track of the conversation.

"Regina Mills," she declared soberly, "Henry knows he can count on me now. How come you don't know that too? I want to come back, not only for Henry, but also for _you_. The question is, do you?"

Regina would never admit such a thing. It was too much weakness to expose, and she couldn't possibly trust another person to know that much about her. Trusting someone with her heart – she could never do that again. Absolutely not. She was better off by herself anyway.

Emma waited for a few moments, then she sighed and stretched out against her, her legs intertwined with Regina's and one hand lightly pressed to Regina's chest, over her frantically beating heart.

Without thinking, Regina reached out to stroke Emma's cheek tenderly. She couldn't bear the idea of Emma disentangling from her for good, no more than she could imagine her life without music. Whether she wanted it or not, Emma was not anymore a grace note that she could easily forget or replace, she was intricately part of Regina's inner melody now – a much happier one, like a G major movement finally resounding after a lifetime spent in G minor.

"Yes," she heard herself say, "I do."

And she did.

 **THE END**


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